Dragon Age - Missive to Celene I Belmont, Empress of Orlaïs
by Tomosada
Summary: One mail for the human empress under the sky./Many complaints from the Dwarf King in his halls of stone./Chiantos candies industrial production, for mortal men doomed to angst./An heir for the Dwarf King on his carven throne, in the city of Orzammar where munchkin lies./1 cheat to bother them all, 1 mail to facepalm them;/1 arse to bring them all, and in the lulz bind them !
1. Chapter 1

**Dragon Age**

 **Fanfiction written by Tomosada**

 **Missive to Celene I Belmont, Empress of Orlaïs**

Atrast vala, Impératrice Célène

As it is said that Kings speak a language of their own together, and as it is known Emperors are sorts of supper kings, or king of kings, or sort of god-king, and considering that I was acclaimed as an High King (and thus a sort of living god who is also king), I will consider thus our relationship for the time being.

Those were the explanations' first albeit _concise_ part.

As for how I came to be High-King, well… I will assume Morrigan didn't tell thee anything – just like she didn't explain me anything 'till she was forced to by circumstances – so allow me to continue. Else, thou can skip to the next part, when We get to this mail's deeper and more important reasons.

At the time I met shadow warden-commander Duncan in my father's palace, it was already clear to me that my destiny was to defeat the invading darkspawns and their sullied dragon god. And as you know, I indeed defeated the Blight, with help and alliances – in which thy empire did not partook in, by the way. When internal conflicts – somehow remeniscant of yer Orlesian Games – caused some change in plans, it should have stopped me. Really. Murdering his elder brother, being exiled by the other, all the traditions, laws and customs of our great (albeit small in size) Race betrayed... Now, it is not as terrible as it seems. No. The worst part – I am well informed about it but believe me or not – was to travel **all the fucking way from the Deep to Ostagar… barefeet!** Really. Next time thy ministers bothers thou, just think about how I refrained to slaughter mines as soon as I came back to business. And Cailan… King Cailan ! The first thing he thought about sharing with me was some Dwarven beer from his regal cave. "Forget cataplasme, gold and beer are enough for dwarves to forget even pain !" By the Stone, Humies are all racists.

Let us continue.

A year after my unlawful exile, and after being saved by Morrigan and her not-so immortal cougar of a mother, I returned triumphantly to Orzammar, clad in a glorious Silverite Dwarven Armor, Aodh the legendary staunch War-Ax in my right hand and the Shield of Paragon King Aeducan himself in the left hand… to see our ancestral capital split by near civil war succession strugle, which I solved in a month's time. Ask Morrigan for details, but long story short, I had to choose between seeking the favours of my father's friend, minister, and general, lord Pyral Harrowmont and my beloved little bro, Prince Bhelen Aeducan. And that… treacherous idle core of envy… was going to win. Because the little runt messed up in his conspiracies, the conflict was going to be really long, and no dwarven army would walk forth 'til then, not even to solve the Blight problem. According to the common opinion, the Blight was all the time in Orzammar, save for during an actual Blight ! But, if we allowed the Blight to be carried out, then, as the lips protect the teeth, it would be Orzammar's turn to become the target of the accursed spawns' full might ! And without any additional food supplies, this time ! And against a lot more enemy troops – I confirmed this fact later – for they would have mass produced ever more troops, capturing the surfacian's women.

In other words, we had no choice but to meddle in. Alistair said that the rest of the Order would not like this, but we had no choice. Or rather, that's what I aptly pretended at that time. I mean… fuck the law, right? Save for the Royal one, obviously. Say it, thou whom read our mail; just say it.

Fuck.

The.

Law.

Good. Now, thou hast become legiphile, idiot (laughs).

At first, just as expected by everyone – including my former fiancée – I joined side with lord Harrowmont.

To be honest, 'twould have been impossible to join Bhelen. When we entered Orzammar – 'twas just after splitting the head of Loghain's ambassador in half – we saw Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmong with a small delegation, fighting amongst themselves. One of Bhelen's crew said to a Harrowmont supporter "I shall teach thou to mock our legitimate King." And was going to stab the poor dwarf. So, filled with righteous furry, I jumped forward and shield bashed the aggressor, sending that thin faced commoner flying, bumping, and my cullionly toad of a smallbro falling on his butt. MANLY !

Old man Harrowmont had always been quite the honorable gentleman, unlike me who became addict to Chiantos sweats, unlike my older brother who had always been vain and changed only after death, or my little brother who had always been a scheming wasp stung maltworm. I won quite many victories in the old lord's name even beating the living shit out of cousin Piotin, who has since my becoming Paragon changed his tone, alas. The good old man even believed me when I told him that I didn't killed brother Trian and that punk just manipulated the whole damned affair. But… lord Harrowmont was a conservative. And Orzammar could ill afford to continue the way it did 'till now, that was the "official" reason for Bhelen's schemes.

And then, I requested a meeting from Bhelen's dishonest scoundrel of a right hand con man. Yes. Another reason why I didn't helped out that mad headed difformity of a brother of mine, it's that he faked official documents of the Shaperate merely to slander Lord Harrowmont ; and at first, he asked me to be his accomplice (that's also why I joined the side of Lord Harrowmont). That is why I awaited to gain Harrowmont's trust before going and persuading Bhelen that I wanted the Throne to stay in the family (our Dynasty!) and that I wanted him to take care of my bastard son conceived just before the exile. The little swine thought he was seeing the same cunning fire in his brother's eyes, but what he truly saw… was Vision.

I have already mentionned it, but I already knew my destiny when I met ser Duncan the shadow warden. And after my exile, I simply made some… ajustements. And it was verry clear, perfectly vivid in my mind, as it should be, from the only dwarf who ever Dreamed ! Lord Harrowmont and Prince Bhelen had the same ideas, nearly the same plans to gain support in the race to the Throne. Whichever side I joined, it would have been the same task they would have given to me... winning a tournament, wipping the Carta out of existence… and of course, going in search of Paragon Branka, lost in the Deep, alongside crazy Oghren.

Right.

I have to write about Oghren, former hero of the warrior caste, and former husband of Paragon Branka. While my titles and deeds are verry impressive, Oghren is even more of a shocking existence… after 8 years – 8 friggin' years ! – I finally learned the Truth of his mysterious ability to bring tons of alcool everywhere with us, smuggling it mysteriously… a secret he took a lot of time before telling his own friend, liege, saviour (as I have made the Legion of the Dead minor nobility) and King. A secret that should make infamous Morrigan herself completely speachless ! The old drunkard had his own pocket dimmension all along ! Just thinking of all that shit I had to wear on my back before we found Shale makes me crazy. Just because the old swine was hiding his secret from us. Of course, Alistair the bastard-warden "who allow himself to be led like a sheep" (-Morrigan) was carrying most of the heavy stuff in my stead. But that was **before** he admitted his fellow Prince-ship and that I felt compelled to treat the sonufabitch like a peer of mine. All of that just because Ser Gorim of House Turncoat-happy-to-be-a-merchant-forever-in-his-highness's-service took a friggin' arrow in the knee while going to the Stone forsaken Surface !

Regardless, I pretended to not know in advance what both small bro and lord Harrowmont were going to ask… we managed to find Branka after a epic journey, where I killed most of the Darkspawn and discovered the explanation of why Dwarves were right all along to avoid including women in their troops. The Stone's wisdom guide the blessed ancestors.

Well, granted that in those times, I nearly always ordered my crew to hold their grounds, so that I could inflict them the Coup de Grâce, but, do not mistake that for weakness, as it means that I was usually fighting 4 against 1 with few support. It was just… longer, and a bit bothersome. Had I been a mage, I would have spelled fire tempests upon them and stuff, but since it was not the case, I did it all the manly way. What ? Of course, I do know how it feels to use magic, as I did shape-shift and used spells when I hunted the Sloth demon across the Fade ! How was he called again… was it Mustafa Netchaiev ? I forgot. Anyway… this… tactical formation… allowed my servants (I mean Fellowship) to improve their martial prowess and accomplish themselves through keeping close to my level, which I managed to bring nearby the peak of humanoid Perfection. Which I have surpassed since then.

Now… Morrigan will probably try to manipulate ye into thinking I have no respect for traditions. But she wanted the Anvil of the Void to be preserved. And we both knew what we had to do for that. Only Shale would have been unhappy with it. Intuitively sensing the emotional outburst danger, I didn't took the she-golem along. And when I understood that both of the Paragons were at odds, I knew that I took the right decision. I mean… what the fucking flying fuck ?! Both of their arguments were completely bunked ! It's divine providence that I was there to facepalm myself I could have peacefully talked my way out of this shitstorm, but no one of wanted to hear it. Guess it tells a lot about dwarven stubornness. So, don't hope to put Shale at odd against me either she has managed to return in her fleshy bits, anyway.

I slapped Branka, though.

She was talking trash, even to her ex-husband, so I looked at her right in the eyes and explained to her what her uncarring attitude would cause, that I should have been her Prince or even her King already, and that I was going to become a Paragon of Orzammar anyway (and thus her equal), since I had at that point already done a shitload of heroic deeds, such as going in the Fade, slaughtering hundreds of foes and making the Chantry owing us big time by finding Darse & the holy urn of Andraste, which the other members of my party would have been unable to since they either didn't cared or had not the Vision and insight necessary to achieve such a thing, not mentionning those who would have been burnt because of their lack of Faith. Ah… No, I am not a believer. Even though I am myself a Knight Templar, and that I allowed the Chantry to make some converts in Orzammar, it was only with conditions (such as accepting the fact that Religion is about Mass Psychology in the first place, and that as such, our Religions were not incompatible and didn't needed to be at odd, and the Chantry especially didn't needed to cause strife and Rebellion in Our Realm, even for so-called great(ly biased and uneffective) Moral Cause). It's just their is enough place for many godlings everywhere, even if this so-called Maker ye hummies worship is absent from my kin's Myths, it doesn't mean either their is no possibility at all that he created us indirectly and, truth to be told, we didn't brought the pervy elf with us this time. But mayhaps ye do not know what happened and how it happened, dear Celene, so I shan't waste the surprise for yer own pilgrimage.

Just be assured that we acted not in any disrespectful way toward yer heterotopic holy site after all, dwarves are civilized, and only barbarians would willingly prophanate sacred places. The Sacred Ashes of Andraste, ye see, I was verry suspiscious, so I ordered some of my companions to stand guard and protect it. I was fairly sure that the Guardian would took it all and disappear along with it, like the cunt he is and I couldn't allow ye hummies to not be humiliated by the ghost of Shartan protecting the Urn. The hard part wasn't really stopping some Vision-less idiot to flee with it and hide it elsewhere, no, the real hard part was to choose those of my companions that would stand guard.

I and my dog were out of the question, obviously.

Sister Leliana immediately proposed herself, but I refused, since someone was needed to rob and steal and everything that we could find along the way, and I couldn't count on Zevran Arainai to do it – what a clumsy fool.

Bellam ? He believed in the Maker, even though he was Elven, that's for sure. But the spongy crowy cur would have probably used this occasion to flee. Would probably have taken the urn's content along him to sell it too. I mean, even though he swore allegiance to me, that Salroka did so in the first place because I could protect him from his fellow assassins ! And latter, he even asked to be released from his oath after we defeated the Archdeamon… how fair is House Turncoat to practice inter-racial ! An oath of allegiance is for life, not for a few months ! I mean… look at this awe inspiring incredible tolerance ! Besides, it's not like he could have been merchant with Gorim in Denerim, anyway. Doing your client's wives and daughters ain't good for affairs, according to rumors. Who knows ? Maybe I m wrong, but I didn't want to take the risk.

Alistair ? He was a (former) Templar and origins aside, a fine Noble Fer-Vêtu, after all, so it was the best, obvious choice. But what if Ser Alistair used this time to reflect upon himself and stop being a mindless sheep, to become a real Preux ? That would have compromised my Authority, and I would have to beat the progressist mindset shit out of him ALL OTHER AGAIN ! Which in turn would have compromised our friendship, and then the alliance between our Kingdoms. The hardest thing for a ruler, really, it's to keep parasites down, in their deserved place. Meditate on this, deary, because thou art cracking down on feudalism way too much. What if the accursed bourgeoisie start refusing to register the Law edicted by the Monarch, under the pretense that it is not liberal enough ? Without proper knights, thou and thine successors won't be able to put down those self-styled humanistic bloody parasites right in their proper place, or stop them from doing a coup d'état. All of these things are totally misunderstood by Alistair, and as far as I know, among the high nobility of thy realm, only prince Gaspard understand it.

Shale ? The she-golem was the obvious choice. I mean, she could have wait for a couple of months, right ? But, nope, she refused, asking to come along because she wanted to… "see". She even argued ! What if the Templars at the Circle's Tower refuse to come, or just don't believe me ? This was actually my biggest concern… going all the fucking way to Denerim to present the Ashes to a scholar, and then waiting months for the scholar to publicize it's work and be widely recognized enough so that allegedly competent authority pull their heads out of their buttocks' holes. What if she actually didn't even believed it, thinking them a false relic inspite of the texts I brought as proofs of my Holy Temple (I have indeed put my flag on it, and I also made sure my dog peed & shat all over Darse to mark his territory in an undeniable manner) findings ? Then, even going all the way to Denerim would have been useless. And it was a big lost of time, our priority was to gather the Host, we didn't had time to make such long travels. She was acting all cynical with Morrigan. They allied, conspired to spurr me ! "The brave grey warden in a holy quest, who fought a dragon and an evil cult in order to save Iarl Eamon with Andraste's cinders and rally the hosts of Man against the forces of evil." "Oï Shale, don't you think it's a lovely story ? (evil laughing)" "So much they won't believe in it…" Whining sissies.

Oghren ? Drunk, all the time : that says it all.

Wynne ? She was a believer and a serious magician, so she would have done it seriously, and stopped the other punks to pull out some crazy desacrating shit all other the temple till I come back with ser Gregoir's Templars (since they weren't needed in the Circle anymore), but she was needed for support, I mean… what if I died ? She was needed to resurect my greatness ! Of course, it didn't happened (not 'till I fought the bloody archdaemon, anyway…).

Morrigan, the other mage of the crew ? An atheist apostate maleficar barbarring barbarian bitchy witch, really ? I couldn't take the risk she uses some blood magic on it just for fun… I mean, I seduced her by threatening a priestess untill she cried laughing, in the first place, and she was so wet I could even disagree with some of her most stupid opinions in latter conversations, and make it up with some of the gifts we bought, stole or looted during our travels. She was needed as one of the most powerfull of all the mages in Thedas, and also the only one who actually knew how to cook. I, Wynne Sten and Zevran could make simple dishes, while Shale & Alistair were… well… they were Alistair and a stone golem, Shale could do nothing more elaborate than crushing a shit ton of birds. You see, a proper Knight must know how to cook, because who else will do it while fighting on the battlefields ? That is something we had to teach Alistair to make him a proper "Ser".

Sten of the Beresaad ? A hornless atheist Qunari standing guard to protect the Urn… he basically opposed being on this mountain in the first place and even tried to give me a sarcastical burn (I burned him instead). Even after he saw the results of our Quest, he ironically congratuled me, even though that was an obvious huge perk to his quest for Redemption and a immense step forward in the name of tolerance between the Chantry and the Qun, at best, and at worse a huge burn on the Chantry's honor to have been so much helped by an unbeliver Qunari which they demonized for centuries. Granted how much we actually got along he and I (because I am wise and mature, and that time I wasn't so grumpy or all the time angry), reflecting upon it after the actual events, I think having the future Arishok do it would have been hillarious.

Ye would have think I could have trust nearly anyone with such an important, glorious, huge mission… but nope. Not at all !

In the end, I had to put Wynne, Zevran, Oghren, Shale and the Dog has guards. And I ordered them to have always at least two of them standing guard, the others were allowed to quit only to go to the toilets and find food (and I left them with three week's amount).

Oghren was convinced by my Prince-ship and some good ol' racism – but I had to cedes him all my chiantoss minus 1 so that he would agree (it was hard to live without my addiction). Zevran, I managed to convinced him that his former guild would not find him in a temple that high in the mountains that stayed hidden from the outside world since mythic times, and that Wynne would settle magical traps anyway so he could rest at ease. The browny smart ass, I ordered to neutralize Shale by continually looking at her as if he was a dog crafted in faïence. Shale, I begged. And Wynne… well, convincing Wynne was no big deal, it was convincing myself the real problem. But my genius allowed me to find a solution… yep, I had Wynne teach her specialization to Morrigan too, so she could now resurect me.

Art thou astounded by that brawny cleverness of mine designs ?

However… by the time we return, Zev and Oghren had become mad with lust, and Wynne bitched for a month about them. Well… aside from those details, it all went well.

Anyway… return to the main subject.

Even though I slapped the angry feminist, Paragon Branka was still a Dwarven Paragon, not a superstitious idiotic hummy. So, she understood this Quaser's intent, and complied with our needs and plans.

Because, now cometh the real interesting part.

When we got back to Orzammar's Diet, we showed them the Paragon-Forged Crown. Well, actually, I showed it to the lord Shapper Czibor first.

And then, I walked into the middle of the Assembly of the most noble houses' lords, and the Chancellor declared that this mess had lasted way too long, and asked to simply tell them of Branka's choice, without mentionning the names of either Pyral Harrowmont or Bhelen Aeducan.

And then I told them that Branka, after some discussion and explanation, chose a special way to deal with the issue. Of course, it was a lie… well, half a lie.

I looked at Bhelen, and I said that he would be chosen as King, but under three conditions.

Firstly, Bhelen had to spare the life and well being of House Harrowmont, and allow lord Pyral to end his life in peace – preferably to put him in confinement in his home, or even to banish him to the Surface and entrusting his guard to the next King of Ferelden, since he wanted to establish closer ties with the Surface and this Kingdom especially. Bhelen answered that he would consider it, and choose after hearing the second condition. That is because we all knew as factual that Harrowmont, even sworn to stop Bhelen from becoming King, would never challenge the will of a Paragon, not even at his own's life cost… while we all knew Bhelen would do it. The verry fact that his partisans brought weapons with them, hidden in their clothing, inside the Assembly's hall, was proof of it… it was proven latter, but naturally, I already knew what they planned. What stupidity.

But it was well played, this answer of him delaying was smart. Bhelen was smart. He always were, even though he cunningly hided this truth from us. Yet, the next stratagem couldn't be avoided. I knew it, he knew it, we both knew it. What it was that I was going to ask. I saw it in his eyes just at that moment. I saw that he understood. Do ye, lady Celene ?

Secondly, I asked Bhelen to tell everyone the truth of how I got exiled, and what caused our father's death.

Of course, this was totally unnecessary. Everyone already knew the truth of those events. But, ye understand why I got exiled anyway, right ? Petty politics is the same in yer Reffined Realm, after all.

I informed Bhelen that lord Czibor had already been informed of the third condition, and that there were written, sealed & signed proofs of Branka's will. And that he was not allowed to know before completing the Second condition. However, I informed him that I, indeed, met the ghost of Prince Trian Aeducan, my « not-brother » (since I was erased from the Archives by Czibor because of my exile... yeah, politics and traditions) and that he forgave us both (of course, it was a lie, well, a half lie, since he forgave only Bhelen, since I asked him to do it, and since I did nothing deserving culpability save for giving my champion helmet to a certain traitorous cunt… no, really, I was no kinslayer and acted in a perfectly honorable way). Everyone could see his surprised and doubtful face at that time.

Well… you already know what Bhelen did. Morrigan should at least have mentionned you that.

Everything went just as planned.

And I told them of the Third Condition. That they carried a last vote, whilst pourring all their Soul into it. I spoke. Following is my exact speech as it was improvised on the spurr of the moment (Shadow Wardens often have a gift to spur people in motion, to make them give their verry best… although, honnestly, mine didn't manifested many times during this journey, as a certain guard officer in Denerim said after seeing a rare display of one sided violence the kind House Aeducan has the secret of « There are people dumb enough to attack you willingly ?! » and the answer is… well, ye shall figure it soon enough, Célène) :

« All of ye know the truth. Will ye still vote for Prince Bhelen or Lord Harrowmont regardless ? All of ye know that I already had the mettle, wisdom and the Regal Nature to be the King of Orzammar. And that was before this pathetic exile, contrary to all our customs, laws and traditions. But just like the ghost of Prince Trian forgave Bhelen, I already forgave him and ye all, as it all turned well enough.

If I survive the corronation of the New King – which is most likely considering I am in arms and armors, and with a mage – Orzammar shall partake in this military alliance against the Blight. An alliance built by Quaser the exiled, funded by Quaser the exiled and led by Quaser the exiled. And considering that Quaser the exiled has already slain one High Dragon **AND** Flemeth the legendary Abomination, walked in the Fade unscathed and destroyed many powerfull deamons, would it not be unsurprising that I defeat the Archdeamon, and survive smiting it ? Smiting an evil ancient god and surviving unscathed ?! I even slew Gaxkang, one of the legendary greater demons who taught blood magic to the hummies !

Don't ye honnestly think that I should already be a Paragon, anyway ? Past Paragons became such people for less than « having the Honour of House Aeducan resting solely upon oneself » as King Endrin Aeducan foretold in a letter sent from beyond the grave, while sending me this shield of Aeducan which none of ye were worthy of, and my brethren the least.

Again, I ask, don't ye think I should already be hailed as a Paragon ? And do not ye think that even if it is not already the case, it should be the case soon enough ?! And so, I ask from ye to act towards me as Justice deems ye do. »

That was just then that I took out the crown. Yep…

« Vote for me. »

… The second Paragon-Forged Crown crafted by Branka on the Anvil of the Void… upon my Silverite Helmet of the Blood Dragon Armor. And I continued.

« If ye vote for me, I intend to implement quite many reforms, some of them being already in Bhelen's agenda, although mine shall possess a deeper insight. One he would have never manage to acquire, lost in his scheeming as he always have been, especially while I was seeing the surfacian's world.

The Hummies' Chantry do not owe the Dwarves, nor Prince Bhelen or Lord Harrowmont the Chantry owes Me, Quaser ! And soon enough, the Kingdom of Ferelden will owe me, us, too. Just at my side, here, ye have Prince Alistair Theirin, the legitimate King of Ferelden, last person alive with the Theirin's Royal blood in his veins. After we defeat the Blight and traveled together, fighting alongside each other as friends and battle-brethrens, would it not be obvious for Ferelden to have way closer ties with us ?

Dwarven ingeniosity trick. The other name given to the remote ties with the Surface, also known as Carta. I have wiped out these disrespectful scums verry recently, as ye all know. But ye can't keep a good parasite down, especially when those who should prevent it's rise don't for materialistic reasons. Not that I am giving any name.

On the other hand, Ferelden and the Chantry owing not just to Quaser the Exiled but to Quaser the Paragon of Orzammar, would be far more than enough for us to do without the Carta. And as for those Casteless scum, we shall gave them 3 choices : join the surface and become part of our National logistic theirs, find a Noble to patron you or join the Legion of the Dead.

Whatever the individual Parriah's choice, it will increase our national might without any slight to the Tradition. And did I mentionned that the Ascendant Merchant's Guild would become a more proactive part of Dwarvenkind instead of an independant, privately owned, gangue damned bourgeoisie entity full of sod and sensiblelessness ?

'Twould be easy to reconquer a huge chunk of our empire AND force the dwarves of Kal'Sharock to recognize the authority of the King of Orzammar, instead of cursing us as they are doing right now.

Again.

Vote for me. »

The only thing that truly saddened me in it's whole story… is that we do not possess the technological means to literally immortalize Bhelen's face when he heard that. And when it worked out.

Just.

As.

Planned.

The Archdaemon's slaying was just as handy, by the by. At that time, I and most of my party were already so strong that we could slew most of the Darkspawns with but one swing. And as for the Archdaemon, what really caused its defeat were our endless cataplasmic onslaught. Really, to have shit tons of potions in your inventory is true immortality, butthurted dragon must have felt true regret when he beheld the authentic might and invincibleness of the Munch Race. Anyway, I ended up ramming my beloved staunched axe, Aodh, through his skull, again and again, while sitting on his giraffe neck, and when he started to be quiet, I descended and rammed a bastard sword, who came out of nowhere (no, 'twas not Sten's one) through his brain. Honnestly, I wanted to ram his arse, but after careful, prepared, premeditated meditations, I decided the risk of looking like some kind of preternatural incestuous pedo could not possibly be worth it, so I didn't do it. No, really ! Believe me ! I don't know what Morrigan said to thee, but her ice was almost useless, because Urthemiel would each time be frozen for not even two seconds, so it barely gave us time to heal each time.

We are a lot stronger though, now, for We can now easily defeat an Archdaemon by ourself, and even the minions he would summon during our duel, as did Urthemiel.

At first, I had planned before hand that Morrigan would try to leave as soon as the beast was defeated and that she had absorbed the soul into her matrice. So, as a matter of precaution, I made sure she had "dirtied" her hands during the fight, and ensured a delayed diareah crisis, through all the liquid lyrium potions she drank. But she must have out-witted me somehow ; that's my girl !

Now, don't misunderstand… I didn't wanted to do that to her sweet butt, her cunning and obtuse rejection of love and family life forced my hand.

And don't go accusing Us of craftiness either, eh… We mean, Bhelen didst not perish on that battlefield, even though We had forced him to come.

By now, We, King of the Dwarva folk, are the undisputed leader of 2404 strong Golem Army. More than half of them were crafted from human criminals. Giving a number… I shan't but it's a lot more than the total one of Orzammar's Nobility caste.

We even have incorporated a singing function to them – Branka is awesome, just like Dwarven music. Virile dwarvenly choir ? Fuck yeah ! And they don't even need to rest (or to breath). It's magic !

A Throne of the Ascending King was crafted.

It was made out of marble, gold and gems. A massive throne, 9 meters high in total, it is carried by a dozen of ornate metal Golems. When I travel to the Surface, it is what I ride. Of course, We had to aggrandize various parts of the architecture of Orzammar, so that it could fit in when We are not going to the surface (such as the entrance...). What ? Didst thou thought I would mount a bronto ? And thou, human Empress, what art thou riding upon ? Elven Ponys ?

We have re-taken 10 Thaigs from the Darkspawns, 'tis far more than my cretineous brothers could have ever managed on their own. Former Ascended dwarves and former Pariahs converted to the Legion of the Dead have converged to help us colonize some of them. We do not retake more of them, simply because we do not have what it takes to populate them.

Now, We hear that ye, Orlesians, are planning to invade Our Realm for some holy purposes. What's the problem, really ? I mean, look : that plebeian monk came to convert dwarves, even though yer Religion explicitly stated that the Dwarva race was not made by yer Maker. I already explained that He may have created us indirectly, but is it not proof enough, indeed, that yer Religion, like most other, is actually confusing it' own History, the one of it's god, and the one of the World ? We tolerate it as long as they obey the King's law. They did not, so they received appropriate punishment for Rebellion, Sacriledge and Blasphemies, among other reasons. It might be at that point useful to return to the part where We explained that ye, Hummies, owed Us ? I, of course, use the Regal, Majestic Plural, because the King is one with the Kingdom… it is a basic of the notion of Regality. But… what if ye decided that regardless for all that the Dwarvenkind hath done for ye, ungrateful hummies, an exalted march had to be set up against Orzammar ?

According to sister Lelianna, the Cathedral of Val Royeaux is especially splendid, a picture of paradise to come. If yer actions caused Us to come and visit it at the head of Our army, joining the voices of thousands of golems to those of yer choirs, We promise to not tear down that holy building in the process. But as for spanking thy blanche fesse on the altar… We can make no such promise. We simply do not have the time to run here and their in the Orlesian countryside, see ?

Among the various actions that are highly likely to cause such a course of event to unfold must be especially considered the refusal to send our son back to his sire and king.

From Monarch to Monarch, I promise this to thee : just give him and his mother back to their father and husband, and we shall be at peace.

Signed :

His Majesty, Paragon Quaser Aeducan the Dream-Walker,

First of His Name,

High King of the Dwarven Realm, Lord Paramount of Orzammar and Kal-Sharok, Hero of Ferelden, Archdeamon Slayer, Elven God Slayer, High Dragon's Slayer (thrice), Slayer of 17420 Darkspawns (accounted only those killed in one _horion_ & without post-mortem butcher enjoyment), Arch-Thaumaturge, Healer of Werewolfind, Knight-Commander Honoris of the Templar Order of the Circle of Orzammar, Ashkaari, Basaalit-An, Kadan of the hornless Arishok, Chantric Saint by deeds,

AND

Sire of His Royal Highness, Urthemiel Aeducan, Prince of Orzammar.

Post Scriptum : No, it is not my tears who were used, as I didn't cried, not even when my former squire turned vile merchant, Ser Gorim, told me about my father's death, nor when the Archdemon repetedly rosted me inside my armor with his mighty flames : ask Morrigan, the only times she wasn't at my sides was when I had to be nice to small folk and Chantrist clergy. Though I almost cried laughin' when I had the idea of forcing the Chantry to rally the Wardennin' side of the landsmeet debate… by using the tears of Andraste, an official relic, to threaten that bunch of sissies unto submission.

Post Post Scriptum : By now, I should be strong enough to defeat an Arch-Daemon by myself. Although I guess I was already strong enough back them, through immense cataplasme ammunition. For indeed, unlike any other hero that might appear after me to save the world, my cataplasmic ammoes are just as titanic as my balls. Praise the Ancestors however that I didn't had to put up with this shit, ultimately. Yeah… I really gave but few elf herb to the elves' host : they were in this damned forests since forever, so obviously they would have more than me who just picked them on he road's side. Who did they thought they were kidding, anyway ?


	2. Chapter 2

**_Paragon High King Quaser the Dreamwalker of Dynasty Aeducan_**

Level 125

Stats :

Strength – 99 (=93(+6))

Dexterity – 90 (=86(+4))

Willpower – 99 (=95+4))

Magic – 14

Cunning – 78

Constitution – 99

 **Talents :**

\- "Berserk" Specialization tree : all talents

\- "Templar" specialization tree : all talents

\- "Spirit Warrior" specialization tree : all talents. The Spirit allied with Paragon King Quaser is called "Regality".

\- "Reaver" specialization tree : Devour, Frightening Appearance, Aura of Pain (ie. all talents except the last one)

\- "Weapon and Shield" training tree : Shield Bash, Shield Pummel, Overpower, Assault ; Shield Defense, Shield Balance, Shield Wall, Shield Expertise ; Shield Block, Shield Cover, Shield Tactics, Shield Mastery ; Juggernaut, Carapace, Air of Insolence, Bulwark of the Ages.

\- "Archery" training tree : Melee Archer, Aim ; Pinning Shot, Crippling Shot ; Accuracy, Arrow Time.

\- "Powerfull" tree talents : all talents

\- "Precise Striking" tree : all talents

\- Second Wind tree : Second Wind, Peon's Plight, Grievous Insult, Massacre.

Total Stats : 535 + 2 Magic +2 Strength, +1 Constitution + 11 +

Font of Strength (x4)

Essence of Dexterity (x4)

Essence of Willpower (x4)

Essence of Magic (x2)

Essence of Cunning (x5)

Essence of Constitution (x2)

\- Those bonuses have already been taken into account.

Tactical Notes :

Paragon King Quaser Aeducan's spell resistance : 10% (dwarf) + 30% (The Spellward) + 4% (Key to the City) + 56 (Armor) = 100%

Dweomer Paragon King Armor set : A regal armor full of Paragon tier runes, crafted from golden White Steel. The pair of Greaves and Gauntlets includes a total of 4 Paragon tier Dweomer Runes ((+14% magic resistance)*4) and there are a total of 4 additionnal runes for the Breastplate. There is no Helmet, as it is intended to be replaced with the Paragon Forged Crown

King Quaser Aeducan is usually almost immune to Magic. When he wears his collar, "The Spellward", and the Commander-Templar Armor set he is completely immune to hostile magic. Which is why Flemeth / Mythal would not be able to control him if he somehow drank from the Well of Sorrows (and become Immortal); nor would dat old magister able to possess him and whatnot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Epilogue.**

Celene the first of her name, princess of the Valmont Imperial Dynasty and Empress of Orlaïs, put down the last _feuillet_ upon which the long _missive_ had been written by the elegant plume of the King of the dwarven folk, and lent back on their chair of her _boudoir_ , sighing. She did not wanted to use such crude language, but still resoluted to do so. Perhaps had he influenced her, somehow, claiming that Monarchs speak the same tongue with each other, that they have a language of their own…

"Has he always been such an asshole?"

So she asked, while employing her delicate fingers to the massaging of her forehead, already freed from the light weight of her silvery mask. Morrigan laughed.

"He became grumpy with age, but yes, he has always been like that."

Morrigan moved in her back, and started massaging the Empress' temples, attending them as if she had been a priestess instead of a mage dabbling into bloodcraft.

"Why did you slept with him again? Aside from Keiran, I mean… By the Maker, he straight out called him Urthemiel. So that's how he survived, using blood magic ritual with your help? What a ruffian."

Morrigan ceased laughing, but remininsce about the half-dwarf ladd's sire, and their memories together.

"His antics are funny, and he could be very charming and thoughtful too. All manner of gifts that would please me he brought rubbing it with all kinds of praise and courtesy. And… this was not so much blood magic as…"

Celene frowned, because Morrigan was not ending her phrase.

"As what?"

Morrigan smiled pervertedly.

"Sexual magic, of course, a discipline they don't teach inside the circles."

It made her cough. Perhaps in the past she would have laughed like a teenage girl, but by now she was used to Morrigan's antics. Now that she thought about it, they would make a wonderful couple… King and Queen of Antics. The whispered name "Fegelein" came to her mind, though she did not remembered where it was she had heard it; probably in some bard's song or report, or in a chantrist priestess' delirium.

"He claims 'tis because his beard is awesome."

She answered straight without hesitation : "his beard is awesome. And in fact, he is quite comely for a dwarf, even without it."

Celene had received quite a lot of dwarves, and as far as she could tell they were nowhere near handsome according to human standards, at least not as much as her own subjects and the elves that she favoured.

"Really?"

Morrigan nodded with great assurance.

"Keiran has his nose."

"Whaaaat?" such was Celene's reaction. Nearly all dwarves she had met had big noses. "I can't believe it…"

"Prince Quaser had an aristocratic face and profile, and not only his nose is beautifully shaped, but his other facial features as well, although his jaws are a bit bony and proeminent, which is hidden by his beard. His silver hairs were well combed and tied in the manner of a Fereldan noble knights, and his beard sported several tresses enhancing its imposing and severe male character; unlike ser Alistair he was always clean, and paid others to do maintenance on his equipment when he had not the time to do so himself. In spite of being of the same size as the average dwarf, his bulkiness, valour, gear, witts, well spokenness… everything participated in a regal bearing that neither lord Harrowmont, nor his younger brother had. Although he was often grumpy, I suspected at the time it was because he focused most of his efforts on me; but in spite of it he weaved great friendship and moral support in our fellowship. It doesn't sounds like it in his grumpy letter, but I recall both the crow-elf and Leliana were enamored with him."

Celene blinked several times at such portrayal.

"What about his body count? Is it not over-estimated?"

Morrigan looked at the paper, where the Orlesian Monarch's finger pointed.

"If anything, 'tis probably underestimated. When we returned to the capital with lord Aemon, we sojourned in his fortified mannor. For two days we rested, but Quasir was bothered that I refused to wear a dress or change cloth in anyway; so he didn't chose to have a date just the two of us as one might have expected. And since I already refused at that time to mate, without providing any satisfying explanations, nor admitting the truth about my plans, he was quite frustrated… and spent hours swinging a big sword, ten thousand swings a day, his naked torsoe wet with manly sweat… at the end of the day, he was just a bit tired. By the time we besieged the Capital, all dark spawn he met was cleaved neatly in one stroke, except for the strongest, though he still needed little effort to slay them; some of them actually avoided or straight out fled his staunched blade."

Celene had heard all kinds of rumors about the Hero of Ferelden. But what Morrigan was saying to her was basically "most of these rumours are beneath the truth".

"They say that heroes do not exist. Knowing Gaspard and my former bodyguard, I start to believe it. What about Quasir? Is it true that he is a kinslayer? You already denied it in the past, but are you not trying to cover for him?"

Morrigan frowned lightly, moving her pretty head from left to right, and from right to left.

"No, Celene… the High King was… when we went to Darse on pilgrimage, on the "holy quest", the spirits there tested him. They could read our minds, and one of them had the role of soothing them, of helping to heal our guilts and fears. He took the guise of his fallen elder brother, and their conversations clearly implied that Prince Bhelen had committed the murder, not Quasir. Throughout all the time we lived and traveled together, aside from that time where he amused both of us by threatening a Priestess, and that time where he went on a thieving spree at the capital… he always acted pure and righteous. All his being radiated integrity and chivalrous spirit."

The Empress wondered if Morrigan told anything of these epic tales to her… to "their" son. Growing without a father to be his model, at least he would need to know what kind of manly dwarf Quasir was. No wonder if Keiran was curious about his father: the blood of heroes and kings slept in him. By pure Orlesian instinct, to avoid others sensing her "weakness", she changed the topic to a lighter one.

"And he sounds quite confident in bed."

The way Celene phrased it showed how clearly she was bored by male's boasting, or lack of confidence thereof.

Morrigan nodded: "A true Grey Warden's legendary prowess every night. And his manhood is not proportional to his dwarven tallness."

The Empress let out a laugh clear as crystal, rather than a pervert's laugh or a girl's giggle. Her tactic had paid off. She knew had they continued on, Morrigan would have felt naught but guilt. But, thinking about it… why shouldn't she? Celene thought that the black haired beauty had to face her regrets, it was now unavoidable, for the King would come fetch her one way or the other.

"It must have been hard to leave such a man."

Morrigan didn't reply; Celene already knew why she had to leave at that time. From the time they had left the Korkari wilds for the King's road, they had been a couple; she had said "everynight", meaning that Quaser and Morrigan actually had sex with each other hundreds of time between that moment and when she started to avoid it, before the final battle, as to not get pregnant too early. With such a frequency, Celene could only guess that it must have been hard and marveled at her magical advisor's willpower, which she had actually cultivated while, no, because she had traveled at his sides. And what about their child, Keiran, whom he never knew? The lad would often question his mother about his father, though she always told him precious little. Of course, Celene already knew all of that… in spite of her varied aray of expressions which mask could not always seal or hide away, she was actually quite serious in her political reformatory plans.

"As of now, I do not intend to mary myself. But the Crown has its own will. You are lucky that it favors you. Both of you; I guess he won't make a terrible father."

Morrigan nodded. Though Celene was a lesbian, enamored with an elven maid, she was aware that her position held various requirements. Had King Cailan not been married, or killed in battle, maybe she would have matrimonially united the two crowns, and gained a heroic and handsome husband at the same time. One she could trust, unlike Duke Gaspard. If she did not have children, she would be mocked as decadent, like her predecessor, but no good suitor had presented himself yet. Many monarchs dreamt of immortality, and 'till now History had been the only known one to answer truly such a wish… sometimes, Celene pretended she didn't cared about other people's opinion; but she, as Monarch, actually did, for such was the Crown's will, such was her royal fate. King Quaser too, albeit trying to recover his son and beloved, was doing his own Crown's bidding.

"Fate is often mistaken with luck, as mother is found of saying."

Celene nodded, while patching the damn letter's pages together. Even though the Paragon King was a threatening arse, this was an invaluable historical document, a testimony of the Hero of Ferelden that nearly single-handedly put an end to the 5th Blight that could have destroyed the world, an unparalleled hero even stronger that survived the slaying of the Archdaemon, a feat even the great elven hero had not survived; bards and minstrels throughout the world sang his heroic _Geste_ , and parents told tells to their children of those times of great adventures, having met the Hero King, having fought by His side. Celene didn't cared much, but still, this letter was the stuff of museum… she would wait some decades, and then unclassify this diplomatical document. One day, when a liberal education had spread throughout her realm along with progressist ideas, maybe it would be read by children and adults alike, copied in History books. Fit revenge against his threats and assholery. As if she knew what Celene was thinking, the whitch of the wild spoke to her Majesty.

"You should send some master painter to Orzammer, to make a portrait of him. Or of us, I guess."

The reason why she asked about Quasir's beard was truly because she did not know anything precise about his appearance, only what Morrigan told or confirmed to her; and that he was muscular, burly and witty, and that he had dignified features, a long grey beard and hair neatly dressed reaching the bottom of his royal neck. It seems that even his face

"You are right… I will do just that. Go back to him, Morrigan; go back to your King."

Morrigan nodded resolutely.

"At least, I won't have to have a Chantrist wedding."

Celene sticked out her tongue playfully.

"Who knows, deary? He did say in this letter that Chantrist beliefs and Dwaren History, Lore and Tradition were not fully uncompatible with each other; and that he considered himself a Saint in virtue of his deeds."

Morrigan jollity at the idea of fucking regularly again had left her, as well as her resolution; these emotions replacd by a vague wariness.

"Well… that's true, but he is just boasting."

In the moment where Celene let out one of the worst asshole like smile she had ever sported, she truly felt Quasir's bad influence in her.

"He signed as a Kngith Commander Honoris of the Templars and of the Circle of Orzammar."

Morrigan's eyes goggled as she gasped. A rational explanation was in order.

"Quasir did it just to emphase his immunity to so-called "profane wizardy and witchcraft"."

But that shallow excuse was not enough for Celene's smile of evil royalty to diappear.

"… And to boast." Said the Empress of Orlaïs.

"… And to boast." Corrected the pale witch.

Morrigan sat, barely containing a deep sigh. Maybe that in the end, she did not wanted to come, not even for Keiran's sake. Somewhere in her heart, she thought that Quaser might be capable of doing this to her as punishment for having abandoned him. And in fact, she could not even justify herself by claiming she had brought their son the best education possible, as she was very doubtful, and believed that her Grey Warden former lover could have been a great father, and bestow to his son all kinds of qualities she had failed to teach him.

"Maybe… I could accept the punishment of a Chantrist wedding for my wrongdoings. At least, I survived that Urn quest, it can't be more unnerving than that…"

Empress Celene laughed at her dispositions. Although she was very fond off Morrigan and of her great mystical ken, inherited from Flemeth the legendary abomination; even Celene began to be bothered by the Court's whispering. And keeping Morrigan in Orlaïs was indeed insanely dangerous now that King Quasir had learned of her and his son's whereabouts; and also of the fact that he had not been informed faster.

"He will throw a tantrum and invade us if you don't, Morrigan. Though, this fabled singing golem army… I would actually like to see it even once. Do you think they can play music too, not just sing acapella? It would be so incredible, so marvelous…"

The beautiful blond lady spoke in _rêverie_ , a tone she employed rarely but in Morrigan's presence, almost showing her affection for her _protégée_ one last time. But as if she had noticed something was amissed, the Empress straightened herself, corrected herself.

"Such a grand historical event would surely delight Our subjects too."

Morrigan tried to shake off her doubt, for after all she was not an atheist, and she could probably convince King Quaser to do a purely traditional dwarf wedding; so she once more nodded, after returning to a calmer state. It had to be done.

"When I am queen of the dwarven kind, alas, mayhaps I can arrange to send such a host to Orlais, for peaceful purposes."

Celene's tone became playful once more. Morrigan had quickly recovered from her teasing.

"Won't people say you bewitched the King?"

But Morrigan was fully prepared, and did not cared nearly as much as her friend and patron about her own infamy.

"By now, Quaser is nigh immune to magic, if not entirely. It grants enormous prestige to him amongst the dwarfs, as a King and as a Paragon. I will just let them think both are true, so as to enhance the legend of the Dwarven Hero King and the Witch from the Korkari wilderness."

They laughed together one last time.

"I will go fetch Keiran… or Prince Urthemiel Aeducan, I guess."

"Prince Keiran Urthemiel Aeducan would be a wiser choice. In fact, just Prince Keiran U. Aeducan would be the best idea, but your ultra-reactionary, mad monarchist, heroic future husband is probably going for a divine right emphasis. 'Tis like he is not hiding the truth at all…"

Morrigan let out a tired smile for this unhelpful, albeit nice last advice.

"Farewell, Your Majesty."

This was not the end, they would likely continue to write to each other; but Empress Celene nodded gravely, while her advisor and friend bowed deeply.

" _Au revoir_ , dame Morrigan."


End file.
